


How to Fix Your Sibling (The Art of Getting Even)

by MegGonagall, pointlessproclamations



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Co-Written, Community: HPFT, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Get Even, HPFT, Harry Potter Next Generation, Humor, M/M, Major Original Character(s), New Friendship, Next Generation, Next-Gen, Original Character POV, Rose Weasley POV, Rotating POV, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6711232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegGonagall/pseuds/MegGonagall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointlessproclamations/pseuds/pointlessproclamations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><div>
  <p><br/>Lovely banner by angelic. at The-Dark-Arts.net<br/><img/><br/><i>Have a disagreeable sibling?</i><br/><i>Want to fix him/her?</i><br/><i>(Or at the very least, get them out of your hair?)</i><br/><i>Easy!</i><br/><i>Make a new friend with an unbearable sibling and plot to pair said siblings together.</i><br/><i>Because, truly they deserve one another.</i><br/><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 1.1: The Primary Siblings - Teulia Lee_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by pointlessproclamations)

  


Amazing CI by pointlessproclamations <3

***

 

_ Teuila Lee POV _

 

How far does Pansy Parkinson need to travel to find someone willing to marry her?

Approximately 15,176 km.

How was this number calculated?

Well, you just look it up, don't you? In an atlas, with a ruler on a globe with some math, or the internet if you’re a lucky Muggle who has a near constant access to it.

And you know how that marriage went?

Downwards. Rapidly downwards.

Mother kept many things, her husband was not one of them. She kept her mirrors and her lavish clothes, but not my father. She kept her vanity and her narcissism, but not Amanaki Lee.

For a time, perhaps they were, indeed, happy—they must have been to have gone and undergone marital union, but she grew bored of him and American Samoa easily with its close communities and it's lack of grand dinner parties. She grew bored and restless, and quite pissy, actually.

Amanaki Lee, as kind as I remembered him and as thoughtful his letters, infuriated me. He couldn't begin to try and discuss whatever problems they had. He took Pansy Parkinson's vitriol with the attitude of a football ball. He fought back like a punching bag. And when he could have kept his children by saying something, he was as persuasive as a soggy Quaffle.

She was an arse. He could hardly be arsed.

But that doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter because I’m at Hogwarts, far away from either of them and I have homework to worry about.

“And if you’ll look over to your right, you’ll see a rare species called the Teuila. The Teuila is a simple-minded specimen.” _I would have gone with ‘primitive social abilities,’ but that’s just my perception of the situation, I guess_ _._

So, homework to worry about and a new location at the library to study without a Rebecca-Katherine “Becca” Parkinson-Lee, Captain of the Slytherin Stupid Sport Team finding, and consequently disturbing, me.

Rebecca-Katherine Parkinson-Lee has many disagreeable qualities. Among those, showing up whenever I don’t want her to, which is to say showing up at all. During the hellish summer months I must share a room with her, despite having magical abilities, she refuses to contribute to cleaning.

She complains every single time mother asks her to contribute to common household duties. Mother played favourites. Becca was her favourite and even more so when Becca decided to add ‘Parkinson’ to her name. Naturally, the household duties she was tasked with were handed over to me.

Becca is obnoxiously boisterous—her whiny, irritating voice can be heard from a sea of rowdy Quidditch-match onlookers. Sometimes I don’t know whether I was more annoyed by her voice or what she said.

With a mother still in league with snobbish pureblood society, attendance at monthly dinner parties were mandatory. Belittling your sister to give others reasons to laugh at you, dislike you, ostracise you, however, is not mandatory. No, my sister did that all of her own volition. It must be noted that I used the term ‘sister’ very reluctantly.

She appeared to the general public an absolute darling little dear. To me, she’s just a little shit.

Without sparing a glance away from my book, I flipped her a bird, collected my bag, and walked away. There’s something about Quiddiots that ruin the air for me. ‘Quiddiots,’ yes, that’s Quidditch + idiots.

Some days it’s this easy to shrug off and ignore Rebecca. Other days. . . there are other days, let’s just say.

_Why are decent people such a rare commodity these days?_

Decent books, on the other hand, decent books can be found in abundance. Therefore, decent books are what I keep to.

In my quest of finding another quiet and isolated place to read, I continued onwards towards some of the classrooms on the first floor. Usually these were the lesser used ones and I had hoped they were empty.

One of them, indeed was empty and it was nice for a time—roughly 7 minutes—until the voices could be heard. I was just getting really comfortable, too.

Due to the nature of the ventilation system at Hogwarts, the first floor classrooms were prone to carry noise from neighbouring classrooms. From my place, I could hear incessant talking.

Talking. I am not completely opposed to talking in the same way I am not completely opposed to Flobberworm Juice. Each had their benefits, sure, but I found them unappealing more often than not.

This reading spot now ruined for me, I exited the classroom. Exiting revealed a merry gang of assorted Weasleys among a sizeable portion of their friends. I say sizeable, though that means three people for me. It is extremely difficult this generation to find a social circle excluding a Potter or a Weasley. Mine is the rare exception. Mine is a circle of one. So, more like a dot, then.

Perhaps the third time's the charm—that's what Professor Thomas likes to say in Charms class. He finds it amusing.

I tried my chances outside the castle thinking I’d find nobody there during class hours.

Now outside the castle, I settle down again, lying belly-down on the grass and open my book. I take a moment to enjoy the feeling of the sun on my back. It was one of Scotland’s more pleasant of summer days.

It was just in the middle of my sixth page—getting to the really juicy bits of the theory behind Golpalott’s Third Law of making antidotes—when I heard rustling from the bushes behind me. I let it slide at first, telling myself to ignore the strange feeling I felt of being within the vicinity of other people. _It’s just the_ lovely _summer wind._

Winds can make bushes rustle, yes. They cannot, however make bushes giggle. And they can definitely not make snogging sounds with bushes.

_Bloody hell._

My sneer formed easily, all on its own on my face as I slammed the book shut, stood up and straightened my uniform. _This was supposed to be my free hour_.

I picked a bit of grass that had stuck on to my legs around where my malu tattooes were. Deviating slightly from a more traditional American Samonan one, I had the top and bottom borders look more like the scales of a snake as a bit of a salute to my house mascot.

But enough of my tattoos. By now, I was getting a little bit wound up.

I turn around to storm my way back to the castle, catching the startled gazes of a young Weasley boy and a young Zabini girl as they caught my sneer.

Thinking I wouldn’t run into anyone by taking the less-used, yet longer route to the first potions class of the school year, I shut my eyes and tried a few calming breaths.

“Sleep-walking, Teuila?”

In closing my eyes, I didn’t see the approaching Captain Quiddiot and half of her Quiddiot team. I say half though I don’t know how many Quiddiots it takes to complete a Quiddiot team—she had four of them with her.

I don’t know their names, however well acquainted I have become to their brand of jeering: the Captain’s-doing-it-so-we-should-as-well sort.

“Well, I can’t say it’s worse than sleep-shitting.” I say quietly, looking as if I was looking pointedly at one and knowingly at the rest, but not actually doing so. It created this lovely effect of confusion as the gang of Quiddiots looked around at each other with ‘did she mean you?’ faces.

I stormed away quickly, not wishing to grace the posse of Quiddiots with my presence any longer.

“Teuila Lee,” Professor Nott remarked dryly as I walked through the Potions classroom door. He was Slytherin. Of course he was. Every Potions Professor has been a Slytherin. It’s almost part of the job requirements, I believe. “Lovely of you to join us.” He ticked my name from his attendance sheet.

The classroom was full, save for a bench to the left around the middle of the classroom.

“Always a pleasure, sir,” I replied dryly, looking at my watch. _Just in time._ _. . Barely_. I thought as I plopped down on my seat, setting my bag on the one beside me.

I guess I’ll be getting through this term without a potions partner. _That might be nice_ , I thought just before a Rose Weasley marched through classroom doors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 1.2: The Primary Siblings - Rose Weasley_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by MegGonagall)

 

  


Gorgeoous CI by pointlessproclamations <33 

***

 

_Rose Weasley POV_

 

Hugo Arthur Weasley is a selfish twit. And being that I am also related to James Sirius Potter, _that_ is saying something.  

It is a curious phenomenon, both in the muggle and Magical worlds, that the youngest sibling of a family turns out to be the world's biggest prat. Even though there are only two of us, our family is no different. 

Well, _technically_ it's a lot more than just the two of us. Let me explain. I come from a rather large family - to put it lightly. You can't even throw a rock within Hogwarts without hitting one of my cousins.  

My dear brother, well, he is not only the youngest member of _my_ portion of the Weasleys, he's the youngest Weasley _period_. He is the quintessential baby of the family. And let me tell you, he fits every stereotype you could think of. He's selfish, has _zero_ boundaries, absolutely no self-awareness and no verbal filter. It's all about _him,_ and it always has been.  

Like I've said; he's a twit.  

For example: I was seven and _Prince_ Hugo was six. We were at Grandma Molly's and _of course_ she was doting over her precious baby. She was hugging, kissing and pinching his chubby little cheeks - the prat was eating it up. I'll never forget it, he actually looked at me from over Grandma Molly's shoulder and stuck his tongue out at me. Like, _"Look at me! Grandma loves me more than you_!" Obviously I became upset and the next thing I knew, Hugo's hair caught fire.  

Well, Grandma totally freaked out and Mum damn near blew a gasket. They put it out quickly - he barely had a singe mark on him; I didn't see what the big deal was. But it ended with me not even _smelling_ any sweets or pudding for a whole month! While that twat of a brother of mine got to eat it right in front of me. The whole time wearing a smug as hell look on his ugly freckled face.  

I hate him.  

When I was nine, he kidnapped Bob. Bob was a teddy bear - no, he was _the_ teddy bear. I loved that bear more than anything. Teddy had given him to me. Yeah, I know, Teddy gave me a _teddy bear,_ but I digress. Bob was perfect. He was chocolate brown and must have lost an arm at some point in his long life, because it was very obviously sewn back on. There were bright red stitches connecting it to the rest of the body. He was fuzzy, squishy and went with me everywhere; except for the day he vanished.  

I went on a trip to Diagon Alley with Aunt Ginny and Al. We went shopping and got some ice cream; it was a fun day. I always enjoyed going out with them. When I came home, I excitedly ran right up to my room to show Bob the things Aunt Ginny bought me from Dad and Uncle George's shop. I opened the door, looked at my bed and my heart stopped when I saw the only things laying on it were my two pillows. 

I tore my room apart for nearly an hour trying to find him. I cried the entire time. Finally I gave up and went to ask my mum if she knew where Bob was, when I ran into Hugo in the hallway. Again, with that smug as shit smile on his face, he was holding Bob in his hand by that imperfectly perfect arm. I couldn't help it and lunged at him.  

So, as usual, he ran straight to Mum crying - bullshit crocodile tears - and hid behind her. Mum went off on me for _terrorizing_ my brother. And how I'm supposed to be the oldest and blah, blah, blah. Basically it came down to me being told that Bob was passed down to me and I was now old enough to pass it down to Hugo. That would had been bad enough. But again the jerk poked his head out from behind Mum's leg and stuck that tongue that I've wanted to rip out on many occasions out at me.  

Hugo's hair mysteriously caught on fire again and I lost pudding and sweets privileges once more.  

I could go on and on, but basically my whole childhood consisted of shit like that. Needless to say, Hugo and I don't really get on well at all. And just when I thought he would never be able to top himself, the sodding git proved me wrong.  

Right before my first Potions class of the year, thanks to my lovely brother, everything fell apart.  

I was on my way to the dungeons when I felt a hand on my shoulder gently stopping me.  

"Rose. We need to talk," came quietly, yet forcefully from my favorite cousin, Albus Potter. 

 

My heart sank hearing the tone of his voice. It was unusual for him to sound so somber; he really was usually a cheerful person. I kind of had an idea what he wanted to speak to me about. Ever since Hugo cryptically whispered, "Nothing like writing a letter to someone special at home to brighten up your day, yeah Rosie?" at breakfast, and I found _it_ missing, I knew it was a just matter of time before shit blew up.  

I thought that maybe if I played dumb and acted like I had no idea what Al could have sought me out for, that maybe he wouldn't have the courage to ask about it.  

I turned around slowly, all the while keeping my eyes wide and innocent, "What is it, Al?" I smiled.  

My heart sank as I watched Al's brow furrow and the disappointment grow in his piercing green eyes. I was screwing up. I was screwing up badly, I knew. But no one was supposed to know. Not yet at least; possibly not ever.  

"How could you?" he demanded and lifted up a piece of parchment for me to see. My letter. The one I _knew_ Hugo stole from me early in the morning. I was suddenly come over with a sensation like I was falling, although my feet were still firmly set on the ground.  

My heart was racing. I honestly didn't know how to explain myself, and it didn't help that as I was trying to figure out what to say, I was simultaneously having fantasies about murdering my little brother, which were horribly distracting, albeit oddly satisfying.  

"I-I," I swallowed and looked around, almost hoping someone would see my distress and throw me the correct words to make it all better.  

Al crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me expectantly. He had a burning look in his eyes, scarily reminiscent of his mother's.  

Just as I opened my mouth to try and explain, I jumped from hearing a loud shriek coming down the first floor corridor we were standing in.  

"ROSE GINEVRA WEASLEY!" my strawberry-blonde, part-veela cousin screeched. The air seemed to almost crackle around her she looked so angry.  

My heart stopped. Dominique was the last person - well maybe next to last - in my family I wanted to see at the moment.  

She marched towards me with a fury I have not seen in years on her face. Behind her, Lizzie and Roxanne ran - with Scorpius and Lily trailing along as well -  trying to catch up and stop her. 

This was bad. This was very, very bad.  

There was no point in trying to deny anything, especially if everyone had seen the letter, so it was probably a good idea to go on the defensive. Especially with the rage ever present in Dom's eyes.  

I held my hands up and backed away slowly.  

"Dom, listen. I'm sor-"  

It became very clear that attempting to say _sorry_ was the wrong decision. A shrill noise, which I assumed was supposed to be a laugh, came loudly from her lips.  

"TEDDY?!" she shouted; I flinched.  

"Rose, _please_ tell me that it was some sort of trick, or a joke? Because you _cannot possibly_ be interested in _Teddy_!"  

I chewed on my lip and quickly looked to Scorpius and Lily, who both wore identical expressions. Their mouths were hung open like fish. I guessed that it was the first they were hearing of this.  

I vaguely noticed one of the Slytherins - Teulia Lee I think her name is - come out of an empty classroom near us and quickly hurry away after giving us an annoyed look. I felt my cheeks heat up and hoped that she didn't hear; I didn't need the whole school knowing what was going on.  

Dom had both hands on her hips while staring a hole right through me. She tapped her foot impatiently. I had to answer.  

"I don't know what you want me to say," I said to the floor.  

"I want you to say it's not true!" Dom cried out as she stomped her foot.  

Well that wasn't something I could tell her. I kind of, sort of, just maybe had feelings for Teddy Lupin. We weren't a couple or anything, in fact, he wasn't even aware of how I felt, but ever since he split up with Victoire - my oldest cousin and Dom's sister - I've reckoned I should tell him how I felt. Just in case.  

Even though I would be eighteen in a week, I knew that even if he did feel the same way, we couldn't possibly be together until after I was out of school, but I still had to take a chance and get it all out in the open. So I wrote a letter.  

My entire heart and soul was written in that letter Al had clenched in his hand. The letter that Hugo stole from me and the same letter that Dom had apparently read as well.  

Not only did I want to destroy my brother, I was also completely mortified that everyone knew how I felt about a person I shouldn't have these feelings for. I mean, he was engaged to my cousin for Merlin's sake. Vic was devastated when he left her.  

I tugged at a loose string on my sleeve, still avoiding eye contact with Dom.  

"I'm sorry Dom. I - I don't know what I was thinking," I mumbled.  

I heard the ruffling of a bit of parchment and looked up; Dom was tearing the letter from Al's hands.  

She looked down at it and took out her wand. I braced myself, because I was positive she was about to hex me. But she didn't, instead she pointed it at my letter to Teddy and hissed, " _Incendio."_  

I watched in disbelief as she dropped the flaming declaration of my love to the ground.  

"Well," she began, "no harm done now, because there is no letter to send. And I'm sure," she eyed me coolly, "you won't think of writing another one, correct?"  

A tear escaped my eye as I glared at her. I was so unbelievably mad, I was shaking. I was mad at her for burning it and thinking she could boss me around. Mad at Al for letting her have the letter. Furious with Hugo for causing all of this to begin with. And mad at the rest of them for just standing there; not one of them bothered sticking up for me.  

Instead of arguing further, I drew in a deep breath and shook my head.  

"No, I won't," I said through my teeth then stormed off without another word.  

I heard Al call my name - I could tell by the tone of his voice he felt badly about how that all went down, but I ignored him and nearly ran down the corridor.  

As I began my way down the dungeons, I heard sniggering behind me. When I turned and saw who it was, my face felt like it was on fire. I pulled my wand faster than you could say, _sibling violence,_ and found myself face to face with the slimy fuck himself.  

"Hugo!" I growled.  

He stood casually, leaning against the wall, and wore a smirk that caused me to see red. 

"So sad I missed the show. I heard Dom went down right mental. Heard you looked like you were about to shit a brick," he chuckled.  

I was fuming and couldn't even form a coherent sentence. Basically a string of profanities came from my mouth, which only made Hugo laugh more.  

"Geez - Rosie," he said between giggles, "calm down, would you."  

I was going to punch him.  

"I mean, you really were in the wrong here. I was only trying to help," he puffed his chest out as I stared at him in blatant disbelief.  

"Only. Trying. To. Help!?" I nearly shouted.  

Hugo nodded then attempted to ruffle my hair, which he knows I hate. I ducked out of his reach just in time; he snorted.  

"Well it's not right to go fancying a bloke who just broke off an engagement to your own _cousin_ ," he boldly stated. He was reaching my limit. "What would dad call that again?" he mused. I clenched my fist and started to concentrate on my breathing, otherwise I might have killed him.  

“Oh yeah!” he snapped his fingers. “He’d say you’re being a _‘hussy_ ,’ right?” 

Limit: reached.  

Before he was aware, or could even react, I blasted him with a Bat Bogey hex that would have put Aunt Ginny to shame, quickly turned on my heel and half-ran the rest of the way to Potions.  

I didn't know what I was angrier at; the fact that he said that, or the fact that I knew he was right.  

Partially distracted, I walked through the classroom door and it took me a minute to notice all the seats were taken, except one.  

"Ah, Miss Weasley. I wasn't aware you had an accident over the summer," Professor Nott sneered.  

What in the hell was he on about?  

"Accident?" I asked, genuinely confused.  

"Yes, Miss Weasley, accident. One in which you must have suffered severe head trauma. That is the reason you are tardy, correct? Head trauma and memory loss, which led to you forgetting how to find my classroom?" he pressed on, seemingly determined to embarrass me. "Otherwise, there would be no reasonable excuse for you arriving to class so shamefully late."  

His tone was becoming more frightening.  

"Sorry sir," I muttered and shuffled my feet, "it won't happen again."  

"No, it will not," he agreed. "Ten points from Gryffindor."  

I flinched while hearing the other Gryffindors of the class groan at me losing us points already. It was turning out to be a fantastic first day.  

"Now if you're quite finished delaying class any further, please take a seat next to Miss Lee," Nott grumbled, gesturing towards the Slytherin I saw coming out of that empty classroom.  

Great, I thought as I sat down next to her, slammed my book on the table and glared at her, a whole term with that weird bloody loner. Lovely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 2.1: The Secondary Siblings - Hugo Weasley_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by pointlessproclamations)

  


Amazing CI by the wonderful pointlessproclamations. :D 

***

 

_Teuila Lee POV_

 

 _Spectacular_. Am I doomed to an entire year of Potions with this temperamental, boisterous Weasley? It’s _Potions_. Potions calls for level-headedness—something which Rose Weasley, with her constant, obviously ire-filled grumbling does not seem to possess. 

Merlin, it had to be a Quidditch-playing Weasley, too, didn’t it? I had little hope, but I didn’t want to be paired with a bloody Quiddiot. I have had more than enough interactions with Quiddiots. I had enough at 0. 

Weasley took out her anger on picking mint leaves from their stems using more force than necessary. Under her breath, I heard the words “little shit,” “letter,” “Hugo,” and “man bun.”

She looked up and saw that Professor Nott, with his apparently offensive ‘man bun,’ approach us. She proceeded to assume a redder complexion. 

I felt my face twitch in annoyance and forced myself to bring my focus back to stewing mandrake for our Volubilis Potions prep. 

“Were you saying something Miss Weasley?” the Professor asked. 

From my peripheral vision, I saw Weasley stiffen suddenly. 

"Only how I thought that new look you're sporting," she pointed a slightly shaky hand towards the small nub at the base of his neck, "is a lovely change, Professor."

Her compliment wasn’t convincing. 

“Right,” he sighed, visibly put off. 

Weasley scowled after him as she dumped her pile of mint leaves into our cauldron. _Is she always like this? Bloody hell._

Half way through the potion and Weasley’s grumbling had subsided as did my irritation. I half-listened as Professor Nott lectured about the effect of Syrup of Hellebore dosage on the potion—a drop too much and we’d make a right mess, a drop too little and the potion would be non-functional. 

After adding the stewed mandrake I had prepared earlier, I turned the heat down to let the mixture simmer. I set about cleaning my side of the bench and measured out the Syrup of Hellebore. Looking around the classroom, I could tell we were already behind. Everyone else had started to bottle their potions. I huff. I would already be done if I worked alone.

Just as I was tapping my scoop into the cauldron, I saw Rose Weasley do just the same thing on the other side of the cauldron, not paying attention to what I was doing. 

I thought the expletive before Weasley vocalised it out loud, harshly, “Merlin’s soggy drawers!”

We were in the process of turning towards each other for a scowl when the cauldron burped, then threw up—exploded. . . with a comical tenor note that I would appreciate—internally, of course, had it not been for my overwhelming rage at Rose Weasley ruining my Potion.   

“Lee. Weasley.” We hold off our stare-down to look at Professor Nott. “20 points from Gryffindor and 20 points from Slytherin. Detention for the both of you weekly for three weeks starting tonight.”

Professor Nott didn’t look angry. He just looked disappointed and tired. I think that was worse. 

He conjured up mops and buckets and held them out. I whispered an apology, unable to meet his eye, as I took a mop. He sighed. That was it. I have passive feelings regarding my professors, but I actually looked up to Professor Nott. On the rare occasion he showed up to one of my mother’s dinner parties, he was one of the few people I conversed with. 

“Is there anything we could do to make up for it, Professor?” Weasley pleaded. Oh, so she cares about her grades, does she? Part of me hated to admit that we had something in common. I willed myself to not give that too much thought.

“I could. . .” Professor Nott started, his words infusing hope into Weasley’s face. “But. . . I think this could serve as a much more memorable lesson for you and Miss Lee.”

“But she— But I— We can’t write up a report if we don’t—” She was snarling. 

“We can.” I mutter. More to myself than anyone. 

“No.” Weasley turned to me, her voice firm. “We _can’t_. We don’t have a potion.”

“You don’t need a potion to write up a report. We’ll lose marks on not having a potion, but we could still write a report without it.” Unsure, I looked over at Professor Nott who nodded. 

Weasley mentally put the pieces together and her fists clenched. “We’re just going to write about what we did wrong?!” 

“Yes.” Professor Nott said with a subtly self-satisfied smirk. 

“But we know what happened. We put too much Syrup of Hellebore into the Potion so it blew up.” Very attractive temper this Weasley. She looked at me accusingly. 

“You’re missing the point.” Professor Nott ran a hand over his beard. “You’ll have to write more than that. I want to know what you’ve learnt from your mistakes.” 

With that matter settled, I work quickly, not wanting to spend another moment in the presence of two people who just annoyed me today—Rose for ruining the potion and Professor Nott for making me feel guilty about it. I think I’d be happier if I didn’t have to encounter people at all. 

Weasley worked on clearing our work bench and Professor Nott set about storing the vials of potions our classmates had brewed in a box. The scrape of the door signalled his ceased presence in the room. 

“What kind of professor doesn’t allow do-overs?” Weasley asked aloud. 

_Was that question meant for me? Am I supposed to answer that? Has it been too long since she asked that question for it to be not odd for me to answer?_

“This is seventh year.” Do-overs stopped at 5th year. Most professors had warned us of that. Every lecture that year seemed to follow the same pattern: “you’re grown up,” “if you’re making the same mistakes you have been since 3rd year, you shouldn’t be here,” “in real life, there are no do-overs,” and then it goes on.

“Are you taking his side?” I did not want to argue right now. I don’t want to argue ever. Weasley is just reminding me why I don’t like to talk to people. “Don’t you care about doing well in this class?”

How _dare_ she? With figurative steel in my voice I answer, “I’ve just moved on.” As I have had to with my father, with my mother, and with my sister. I make a point to clean further away from her to signal that our conversation was over. 

“So that's it?" she asked, clearly not taking the hint. "You're just going to give up? Roll over and accept 'no' for an answer?" 

“It wasn’t a ‘no’ and what I’m doing is planning to work my arse off on my write-up so I can have a decent chance at passing this assignment.” Neither of us could shut up at this point. “It’s not our last potion,” I added. 

Then, we heard the door open and the most annoyingly snide voice drawled, "Rosie! Tsk, tsk. Not only have you ostracized the entire family, but a detention under your belt already, too? For _shame_."

Rose Weasley was irritating, but this other Weasley was _punch-ably_ irritating _._ I nearly felt sorry for her. Deviating from the school-issued sweater and robes, the prick wore the most pretentious-looking varsity jacket. 

“Go away, Hugo.” She sounded tired. 

“But I’m probably the last of our family to talk to you again. Are you sure?” His mock concern reminded me of one of Becca’s less-than-pleasant tactics to annoy me. Something told me Hugo Weasley also got off on pissing people off. The very way he carried himself was enough to tell me he was obnoxious. 

And then Rose Weasley snarled with her wand drawn and pointed at his face, "Hugo Arthur Weasley, I swear on Merlin's pointed hat, if you don't get out of my face this instant, I'm writing mum immediately and telling her about a certain _stash_ which I _know_ is currently under your bed. Do I make myself clear?" 

“You wouldn’t!” The younger Weasley’s face assumed the pigmentation of a tomato, all bravado dropped for the meantime. 

The elder Weasley narrowed her eyes, “Are you sure?” She threw her brother’s question back at him, enmity permeating her words. 

And with a scoff from Hugo Weasley as he gathered the pieces of his briefly shattered pride, the git finally accumulated enough generosity to gift us with his absence. 

Maybe I was a little bit impressed. I briefly wondered the effectiveness of this tactic if I applied it to my Becca Issue. 

Okay, so maybe Weasley and I have more in common than caring about grades: we both have nasty shits as siblings. 

“You too, huh?” 

“Sorry?” Rose turned to me. I did not intend those words to travel from my brain through my mouth. 

“Your brother and my sister are. . . they’re both the same. . . the same brand of pain-in-the-arse.” I explained awkwardly. I think those were my first words to her that weren’t infused with some form of vexation directed towards her. 

Rose gave me a reluctant half-smile and tittered, like she doubted the extent of Becca’s antics. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

I took up a cloth to clean our lab bench only to find it already clean. The entire classroom exhibited no remnants of our exploded potion. 

I dropped the cloth in the bucket and started packing up my things. Nearly out the door, I heard Weasley’s voice behind me. “So. . . See you next class?” 

I nod, surprised that she bothered with the parting words. “Yes.”

My Rose Weasley-induced-aggravation was decreasing. I don’t know. I guess I felt empathy for her after learning that she, too, had an unbearable git as a sibling. 

And speaking of unbearable gits as siblings. . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 2.2: The Secondary Siblings - Becca Parkinson-Lee_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by MegGonagall)

  


_Beautiful CI by pointless-proclamations_

_***_  


__  
Rose Weasley's POV  


 

Walking out of the classroom, I was livid. I wondered if Mum would actually have me locked away if I killed Hugo? Probably. I couldn't even look at the tosspot as he stood leaning against the wall waiting to go into class, because I knew if I did I would have hexed him into next week. I'm sure that would have landed me in another detention and probably have more points taken from Gryffindor. I was already down 30, so I was sure everyone was exceptionally pleased with me.  

I tried to keep my focus firmly on the ground, because I felt my wand hand getting a bit twitchy, and marched my way past the small gang of fifth years. I heard Hugo say something to his friends, probably about me since they all looked my way and laughed. I had to get away. Quickly. Before I did something I'd regret.  

I only made it a few steps, internally grumbling about Hugo, Nott and only a little about Lee, even though we ended on a somewhat alright note - _she_ was _the reason Man Bun the Potions Wonder stuck me with all of those detentions... but he is bloody hot though. Stupid Man Bun_ \- then I heard the most annoying voice. It was coming from _Parkinson;_ Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. The girl was a complete cow.  

"Hey Tilapia! Is it true? Has the goody-goody, never gets in trouble, perfect student actually landed herself in detention?" she asked someone in the most unpleasant tone. 

Was it Lee she was mocking? It had to be; she wasn't calling me some kind of fish. Was she?  

I turned around and lo and behold, she _was_ speaking to Lee. Then it hit me.  

 _“Your brother and my sister are. . . they’re both the same. . . the same brand of pain-in-the-arse.”_  

Oh sweet Merlin's stained flowery apron! I completely forgot! Becca Parkinson- _Lee._ The little twit went by her mother's surname to play up her Pureblood side, thinking it would make her more popular with her housemates - which it seems to have done. Parkinson was the _pain-in-the-arse_ she was speaking about! Poor Lee... That girl _was_ a nightmare.  

Parkinson seemed to have had the whole Slytherin Quidditch team around her, at least the ones in her year; of course they were all laughing at Lee. Even some of my brother's friends were. Wankers.  

I noticed a red tint to Lee's cheeks, whether it was from embarrassment or anger, I wasn't sure. Probably both. I thought that maybe I should've said something. I felt like I should have. I hated seeing anyone ganged up on like that, especially after the assault I received earlier from my cousins - and from the little twat, too.  

"Aww what's the matter? Are you sad?" Parkinson sneered at her sister.  

Wow, what a bitch! I wrapped my hand around my wand in my pocket. _One little spell wouldn't hurt, right? Maybe something that would seal her mouth shut, so no one would have to hear that squeaky voice again?_

Just as I was about to say something, Lee opened her mouth. If I wasn't looking at her, I would have totally missed what she said.  

"Piss off, Becca," she mumbled with absolutely no conviction in her voice.  

 _Maybe I could teach her a thing or two about standing up for herself. The poor thing looks like she could use a lesson in bitchology,_ I thought. 

Lee breathed out a heavy sigh and awkwardly tried to push through the group of hags; she stumbled and dropped her bag, then a roar of laughter erupted throughout the corridor. She froze and just left her belongings to lay on the floor. Looking straight ahead she stood completely still, scowling. I felt my cheeks heat up, I was embarrassed for her.  

I had enough.  

I hurried over and picked up Lee's bag. As I handed to her I shot daggers at Parkinson, who laughed harder.  

"Careful Weasley. You don't want to tarnish that golden reputation by associating with _her,"_ she giggled.  

_Hmm. So I was going to commit a double murder today. Parkinson and my brother._

"Why don't you back off, Parkinson. What has she done to you?" I hissed.  

"Oh I don't know," she said airily, twisting a lock of hair around her slim finger. "She was born?" She scoffed, yet formed it like a question.  

I shook my head in disbelief. This girl was incredible; in the worst way possible.  

I was about to really let her have it, but Professor Man Bun came stalking up the hall.  

"Enough. Enough," he said all tired-like, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You," he pointed at the waiting fifith years, "inside. And you two," he added, turning his attention to Lee and myself, "don't you have a paper to write?" He raised an eyebrow.  

Merlin, the git was beautiful. I took just a few seconds to admire his dark eyes, perfectly squared jaw, which was shadowed over with a bit of stubble and full lips -even though I did kind of hate him, I still could appreciate a pretty face when I saw one - then let out a loud breath.  

"Yes, sir," we ended up saying in unison.  

He glared at me, gave Lee a half-smirk and then disappeared into the classroom.  

After he was gone Lee stared at me wide-eyed and shuffled her feet.  

"Thanks - I mean - you don't. You didn't have to. Thanks," she stuttered.  

She looked so genuinely shocked that someone had actually been kind to her. Well, she _was_ always alone. Every time I saw her, she was always by herself. I began to wonder if she really had anyone who truly cared for her. Or cared enough to stick up for her. It made me sad.  

I smiled genuinely for the first time that day. "Yes I did," I laughed. "She was bang out of order."  

Lee snorted. "You are remarkably insightful about the mechanics of Becca's mind."  

Was that a joke? Does Lee have a sense of humor? Because I didn't think there were any mechanics of any kind in her sister's mind.  

"Eh," I shrugged. "I have some experience with the twats like her."  

She cocked an eyebrow and I thought I saw the hint of a smile on her lips.  

"Hugo, my brother," I clarified. "They seem one and the same."  

Lee nodded and then surprised me by letting the smile, which looked like it was fighting to appear, win.  

"They do," she agreed quietly.  

She was not a talker, this one. I was definitely not used to that. With my family and friends, it was a fight just trying to complete a sentence. She seemed alright though. Just needed a friend, that's all.  

"Do you have a class now?" I asked her.  

Lee shook her head and scrunched her eyebrows together. She looked a little confused as to why I was asking.  

"Would you want to sit out by the lake? I go out there sometimes to be alone, but I wouldn't mind the company," I smiled. She frowned. "But it's perfectly alright if you had other plans," I added quickly so she didn't feel as if she were obligated.  

"Other plans... Yes. I have other plans," she said very unconvincingly.  

She was lying, I was almost positive she was, but I wasn't going to push it. She seemed like the type of person who wasn't exactly comfortable around other people.  

Lee huffed sort of impatiently. Her eyes softened a little bit, almost like she kind of felt badly about lying. Maybe?  

She reached up and rubbed at the back of her neck. "But - erm. I'll see you in detention tonight."  

"Sure," I half-smiled. "See you then"  

Lee nodded her head jerkily then she and I both headed in opposite directions. I almost ran out of the castle. I needed to get outside and feel the little bit of sun that was shining on my skin.  

A part of me felt sorry that she wouldn't join me, but honestly, there was a stronger part that was relieved. I'd had a horrible day so far, and she just reminded me that I had a detention to end the shit show of a day with - which _was_ partially her fault.  

My solitude near the Black Lake sadly only lasted a few minutes. I was sitting and enjoying the warm tingling of the sun on my exposed arms and legs, eyes closed and just forgetting about the world, when I felt someone plop down next to me. I kept my eyes closed in the hopes that they would think I was asleep and leave me alone.  

"Rosie...?" Al said hesitantly.  

Drat. No luck.  

"What do you want, Al?" I whined, my eyes still closed.  

Was one hour of time by myself really so much to ask? I probably should have snuck up to the Astronomy Tower. Hardly anyone went up there. Blasted sunny day and my need for some Vitamin D.  

"How are - is every- erm... Alright, Rose?"  

I could tell my the inability to form that sentence coherently that he knew I was probably unhappy with him. And why shouldn't I have been? Al was normally the one person who was unconditionally by my side.  

"I'm _fine,"_ I huffed, which everyone knows was girl-code for, _I am so not alright right now and if you don't leave the immediate area shortly, I may shove my wand up your nose._  

I turned on my side facing away from him. 

"Er... right," Al said quietly.  

We sat in silence for a few moments as I watched the surface of the lake bubble, right before a giant tentacle became visible then, just as quickly, it disappeared beneath the surface.  

"Rosie?" Al tried again.  

I really wasn't getting rid of him, was I? What I wouldn't have given for some Firewhisky.  

"Alright Al," I said in a dangerous whisper while sitting up. "You want to talk?"  

He nodded; eyes wide.  

"Right. Let's talk then."  

I angled my body towards him and felt a little bit of satisfaction as I watched him scoot back a few inches. We didn't have a row often, so when we actually did, it was serious.  

"Rosie I didn't -" he tried.  

I held my hand up. "Stop." I snapped. He shut it immediately. "Was it Hugo? Is he the one who showed you lot?"  

I knew it was, but I had to hear it for myself.  

Al nodded.  

Now it was official. I _could_ destroy the ass clown now, with probable cause.  

"When?" I asked through clenched teeth. 

"While you were in Muggle Studies. Hugo found me and Dom and handed it to her. She... erm - lets just say she was a lot calmer about it by the time she got to you." He reached up and ran his hand through his hair, looking a lot like Uncle Harry as he did. "I think he knew if he gave it to me, I wouldn't have let her see it," he added.  

As I looked into his eyes, I could tell that he really did feel badly about everything. I felt my anger at him slowly deflate. I always had a hard time staying angry with Al for long.  

I started pulling at the grass and looked out across the lake again. "Are you angry with me?" I asked.  

Al breathed out heavily. "Yes... And no."  

I felt a wave of loneliness wash over me. I didn't want Al being sore with me. Of course I was going to eventually talk about my feelings for Teddy - however inappropriate they might be - with Al. I never dreamed he'd find out in that way.  

"I just wish you told me," he said earnestly. "We tell each other everything, Rose."  

"I know Al. I was going -" 

"I mean, you were the only person who knew about me and Scorpius before there was _even_ a me and Scorpius," he continued.  

He was right. No matter what, I was always the first person Al came to. Like in second year, when he realized that he might fancy blokes more than just as friends, it was me he confided in. Then in fourth year, he had told me, before even telling Scorpius, that he had a slight crush on him and didn't know what to do. It was me who kind of weaseled it out of Scorp that he did, in fact, swing that way, _and_ that he thought Al was pretty fit too. I could understand why Al might feel a little hurt and betrayed by me keeping a secret from him.  

I placed my hand on Al's forearm and gave him the best puppy dog eyes I could muster. "I'm sorry Al," I said genuinely. "I really _was_ going to tell you. Real soon, too."  

That was a slight lie. Maybe in a few weeks I was going to. You know, after I had heard back from Teddy. But it seemed Al believed me. He smiled and reached over to ruffle my hair - he was the only person I let get away with that. Although, that didn't stop me from scowling when he does it.  

"It's alright, Rosie. Just don't keep things from me anymore, yeah?"  

From the tone of his voice, I could tell I was forgiven.  

He waggled his eyebrows at me. "So Teddy, huh?"  

I felt my face burn red. "Yes," I groaned, laying back down and covering my blushing face with my arm.  

Al and I discussed my feelings - and all the issues that could arise if Teddy happened to feel the same way - for hours, until we realized it was probably time for dinner.  

Throughout dinner, Dom would hardly look at me. Nor would anyone else, for that matter. She, or one of my idiot cousins, must have told everyone what had happened, because not even Lizzie or Troy Wood - siblings and Beaters on our Quidditch team - were really speaking to me. I felt so alone and uncomfortable, since Al was obviously not with me, as he was eating at the Slytherin table with his housemates.  

I bounced between wanting to finish with my food as quickly as possible, so I could get the hell out of there and trying to take as long as possible, so I could put off going to detention. But when I looked and saw Professor Man Bun leave the Great Hall, with Lee following after a few minutes later, I reckoned I better get a move on. I didn't want to risk Nott giving me more detentions.  

I stood up and mumbled a goodbye to my cousins and friends, which was partially answered, partly ignored and left, to go begin serving my unnecessary sentence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 3.1:_ _Evaluate Potential Comrade - Professor Nott_
> 
> (Written by pointlessproclamations)

  


Lovely CI by pointlessproclamations :) 

 

***

 

_ Teulia Lee POV  _

 

 

_Rose Weasley._ Maybe not as Quddiotic as I initially suspected. Alright, then. Not a Quiddiot. Sure. Temperamental? Yes. Empathetic? Most certainly. Nosy? A little.

The events transpiring before dinner were not unusual for me for the most part. It was not uncommon for Becca to mock me in front of an audience and it was not uncommon for that audience to laugh along—dependent-thinking simpletons that they are. . . with horrendous senses of humour. It could be worse, they could be the snobs of mother’s dinner parties where they do this while I am turned away, yet still fully capable of hearing their words.

Had I not been so concerned about my paper, I might have been present-in-the-moment enough to inform them of their personality defects with unrestrained vitriol. The incident just reminded me why I do not bother with people.

Becca had asked me if I was sad. If she knew me any better she would know that I had long since given that up. I have moved on. What remains is simply a steady stream of ire.

I had better things to do. I had a paper to write. I want to be alone. Bloody hell, could she not take social clues to piss off? She and her merry gang of simpletons. Did they not have better things to do?

Was I surprised Weasley picked up my bag? Certainly. What are her motives? Why involve herself in my business?

She seemed genuinely angry. . . but shouldn’t that be expected giving her temperament? It was curious. Still, I suppose I could be grateful this one instance. After all, someone who recognises Becca’s mind as ‘out of order’ is someone one step closer in being classified by myself as ‘pretty alright.’

Maybe it was that Gryffindor hero-complex. Maybe it was Quidditch rivalry: an enemy of my enemy is a friend? Were we friends though? Doubtful.

Of course by that time, Professor Nott dispersed the crowd. We had both caught her staring at him and exchanged bemused looks and smirks.

_Weasley, Weasley, Weasley. Fancy the Man Bun don’t you?_

In my retrospection, I couldn’t stifle a startle at Professor Nott’s dry detention welcoming.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly—odd for him, but he isn’t heartless. I didn’t want to feel as though the question extended beyond my being startled, but that happened anyway.

“Yeah.” I waved it off. No use spending more thought than necessary on what happened. It will not be the first time; it will not be the last time.

He looked as if he was going to try again, but Weasley chose this moment to enter the room. Thank Merlin.

“Weasley, you’re pleasantly on time for a change today.” The more familiar sardonic side of Professor Nott reappeared.

Weasley looked conflicted. This girl needs a lesson on emotional masking. And. . . there it is. She eyed the bun, gave it a good look, remembered herself, then cleared her throat.

“What’s—What are we doing today?”

“For detention, both of you will be writing lines.” Sarcastic excitement from Professor Nott.

Lines? _Lines?_ Lines are the most unproductive type of detention. I had to say something. “Lines? _Lines?_ Really, Professor? It’s my detention debut and you choose to assign the most unproductive type of detention?”

“ _Miss_ Lee, do you have an issue with my choice? Do you not trust my judgement?” He smirked.

“Didn’t you used to date Pansy Parkinson? How’s that for your judgement’s reputation?” Rose wrinkled her nose.

Professor Nott’s head hung; in shame, presumably. I don’t know. The shaking of the shoulders gave him away. Merlin, he was amused and silently laughing.

“What?” I turned to Rose. “No. I did not need to know that.”

“That was—” Professor Nott started with a hesitant glance in my direction.

Nope. I shake my head. “I really don’t need to know.”

“That was once and it was. . .” He searched for a more delicate way to put it, grimacing, “Unaccountable.”

I cringed. "This is weird. This is very, very weird."

"Can't argue with that." Weasley held up both hands, palms open.

Professor Nott just shrugged and nodded in agreement.

"Any more stalling remarks, Miss Weasley? Miss Lee?" He turns to each of us, one eyebrow raised. "No, then let's be on with it."

Weasley and I produced synchronised sighs.

"Fine." He ceded. "What about lists? A list of things you must and must not do during Potions."

I could work with lists. I liked lists.

1\. One must always be vigilant.

2\. One must follow the procedure.

3\. One must not take one's attention away from the potion.

4\. One must always clean one's potions bench.

5\. One must read the procedure before class.

6\. One must be aware of the safety precautions of the potions ingredients one works with.

7\. One must work swiftly, yet surely.

8\. One must remain calm.

9\. One must continually observe changes in the potion.

10\. One must take off one's cloak because loose sleeves are a safety hazard.

11\. One must always have a pre-potions write-up prepared before class begins.

 

. . .and so the list went on. I had been through six consecutive years of Potions—going on a seventh, if I hadn't learnt anything I wouldn't be on a seventh.

How many hours did I have left? One? A little less? No problem; easy. . . or so one would imagine.

By the 40s and exhausting all subtle redundancy I could manage, I was running out of items to write. The result was thus:

41\. One must not comment on the Man Bun.

42\. One must not ogle the Man Bun.

 

Upon writing the last full stop, I heard a barely restrained snort behind me. I looked up for the first time since beginning this list and found Professor Nott peering at my work.

Assessment of his reaction to item 41 and 42: seemingly positive.

Facial expression given: smirk of smirks.  

Conclusion: I was getting away with this.

I looked over at Rose. She was still furiously writing, making angry crosses every so often. The scratches her quill made against the parchment filled the room. For all I knew, she could be outlining a revenge plot against people she did not like. Interesting character, this one.

The extent of my weariness was only brought to my attention after Professor Nott dismissed us for the day, collecting our lists.

I tried not think about what I had to look forward to in my last year of school: Becca's antics, a Potions Partner, general Quiddiot excitement. . . Nothing deviating from a standard academic year at Hogwarts.

After school, however, I would be free from this. I planned to use the money I had saved up from summer jobs compounded yearly in Gringotts with an attractive interest rate to get myself an apartment. I planned to move out, apply for student loans and scholarships for university, study potions research. . . That was the life I was excited for; with a life—and quite possibly an attitude to it—like mine excitement wasn't something I experienced very often.

I nearly missed Weasley's parting words—I have to stop doing that.

"Goodnight, Lee." She smiled at me.

"Night, Weasley." I nodded at her, still not accustomed to the receiving end of this friendly behaviour by a peer.

None of my dorm mates acknowledged me as I entered the dorm. This was perfectly normal. After all, despite knowing _of_ each other for years, I remained to be nobody. I was unseen, unheard, and unheard of; well, except when Zhu and Macintyre joined Becca in her efforts to inspire ire in me.

We were like different species of fish—Quiddiot and Teulia—in the same tank: no acknowledgement save the occasional confrontation started by Becca the aggressive and renowned fish.

How apt considering Quiddiot mental capacity averaged that of a common fish. Though one must admit that fish are far more majestic and far less verbose.

This was my last year here. I figured I'd leave things as they were; why should I bother? Nevertheless, a nagging 'what if' started to form on the periphery of my consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 3.2: Evaluate Potential Problem - Dominique Weasley_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by MegGonagall)

  


*Stunning CI by the ever amazing pointlessproclamations* 

 

***

Well that was a strange experience. Nott was almost... _pleasant_. I really don't know what I was thinking, blurting out how he used to date Lee's mum -- I mean it seemed to horrify her, but Man Bun appeared to be a bit amused by it.  

Oh but that list was just _awful!_ I couldn't think of a bloody thing to write, yet Lee scribbled away like she would win a ten thousand galleon prize at the end. I wondered what she wrote that had the professor snort like that?  

Well if the other detentions turned out to be anything like that, I assumed they wouldn’t be _so_ bad. Even though the next one happened to fall on my birthday. Bugger.  

All I hoped for, on my way back up to Gryffindor Tower, was that everyone had gone to bed. I wasn't in the mood to deal with Dom, I certainly had not wanted to see Hugo and I just didn't feel like speaking to anyone else either. But, since my luck had been proving to be absolute bollocks, I did not get my wish.  

As I climbed through the portrait hole, I noticed Dom and Lizzie snuggled up together on the couch in front of the fireplace, Troy and Lily were playing a game of Wizard's Chess on the floor in front of them, and Roxanne was quietly reading in one of the arm chairs. A few other students were still scattered around, excitedly discussing their first day back.  

I exhaled loudly. _I guess I'm not avoiding them tonight, am I?_ I thought. 

I tried to make my way towards the stairs stealthily, but again no luck. Dom must had seen me from her peripheral vision.  

"Rose?" she called over.  

My shoulders slumped and I stood just for a moment with my back still facing everyone. _Perhaps I could pretend I didn't hear her and continue on my way?_  

"Rose, please? Can we talk?" her voice was a hell of a lot softer and more civil than it was earlier.  

 _Might as well get this over with then._  

Slowly I turned around and walked towards my cousins and friends. You could probably have heard a bowtruckle's footsteps it became so quiet.  

Right before Dom stood up, Lizzie whispered something in her ear, which she shrugged off with a quiet, "I know," then kissed the top of her head. Lizzie offered me a tight smile, then found a book which she quickly pretended to become lost in.  

"Erm... Hi guys," I said awkwardly to everyone around.  

I received a few mumbled responses before they all seemed to suddenly be very, very interested in what they were doing before I arrived. Gits. It was terribly uncomfortable. I almost wished I was back in detention. Lee and Nott had been more friendly, and that was definitely not saying much.   

"Right..." I whispered sarcastically. "Alright Dom, where would you like to talk?" I asked; my traitorous voice cracked at the end.  

"Out in the hall, I think. Yeah?" she formed it like a question, yet didn't give me a chance to respond as she already started walking towards the portrait hole.  

Right before I took off after her, I glanced down at everyone around me. They all thought they were being so nonchalant about it, but I saw all of their heads quickly look down; all trying to pretend they weren’t nosey twits. I snorted and left without saying goodbye.  

As soon as Dom and I stepped out of the common room, she stopped and crossed her arms then sighed. She didn’t look as angry as she did earlier, when I thought she was going to rip my arms off and beat me with them; she looked tired.  

I chewed my lip, wondering if I should say something, or just wait for her to speak. The silence started to become a little awkward.  

“Rose, look,” she finally said. “I - I’m not _mad.”_  

My eyebrows seemed to fly up on their own accord. I couldn’t help myself and blurted, “Could have fooled me.”  

She glared at me.  

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I figured I best not push my luck.  

"As I was saying," she continued with more venom in her voice than before I interrupted. "I'm not mad. I'm - I'm disap-"  

My mouth just didn't seem to want to stop. "Oh please don't say you're _disappointed,_ Mum," I spat.  

I guessed she wasn't expecting much of an attitude from me. She took a step back and flinched, like I hit her.  

I was over it at that point. I was not going to be made to feel guilty for something that was completely out of my control. You cannot help who you develope feelings for. Hadn't she realized that I was probably feeling like shit about the whole situation to begin with? 

"Look Dom," I drew myself up to full height. "I understand where you're coming from, I really do. But to be quite blunt," I took a deep breath. I knew she was not going to like this. "It's really none of your fucking business."  

I almost laughed when her mouth dropped open and she attempted to sputter out a response. She looked like a fish out of water, gasping for air.  

"Now I'm sorry that you found out the way that you did, but I really wasn't planning on broadcasting it. Because, not only is it none of your business, it is _no one's_ business," I said all in a rush.  

It seemed the stress of the long day I had was all coming out and Dom was taking the brunt of it. Deep down I knew that maybe I was being a bit harder on her than she deserved -- well maybe not, she was pretty aggressive with me earlier; regardless, I was finished biting my tongue. We all always had to walk on eggshells around Dom, and I was tired of it.  

"Now, I'm going to bed. I've had the worst first day ever and I'm finished arguing with people."  

I turned and gave the password to a sleepy and irritated Fat Lady.  

"Rose?!" she shouted.  

I almost turned around, but changed my mind just as the thought popped into my head. I was tired, physically and emotionally.  

"Goodnight," I called over my shoulder.  

I walked right through the common room, straight into my dorm - ignoring two of my dorm mates - changed quickly and hopped into my bed. Before I laid down, I made sure to shut the curtains around me. I could tell by the looks on the girls' faces that they wanted to talk and I couldn't afford to get into any conversations. Not if I wanted any chance of sleeping that night. 

The following morning I woke ridiculously early. It had to have been only minutes after sunrise. I was nowhere near rested enough, but decided to get up anyhow; I would later come to regret that decision. After what Hugo would end up doing, I realized I really should have spent the entire week in my bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Section 4.1: Threshold Reached - Scorpius Malfoy_
> 
>  
> 
> (Written by pointlessproclamations)

  


 

* _Amazing CI by pointlessproclamations_ *

***

There are very few physical objects I care about—I do not possess sentimental tendencies. There are few things I classify as ‘irreplaceable.’ These are things I might actually miss when they’re gone. 

For instance, my personalised potions books. I scoured bookstore after bookstore to look for each piece of my collection; they were definitely not easy to find at an affordable price. These books, after years of accumulated potions learning and experience, are abound with footnotes, comments, corrections, revisions, and tea stains. I have laboured long and hard over these books to cram them with knowledge and, accidentally, permeate the pages with the scent of jasmine tea.

That being said, it is to be expected that I would feel some concern about the trunk I keep them in being very visibly _not_ under my bed. To find that trunk without its heavy-duty padlock would be another source of concern. To top that all off—in the way that one would top rancid shrivelfig root juice with extra sour, pickled ashwinder eggs and beetle eye innards—finding that the books were, well, not to be found in said trunk may have annoyed me a little bit. 

Naturally, when I say ‘annoyed me a little bit,’ I mean that in way that I would mean shoplifting being an affordable way to acquire that couple hundred galleon tote bag from Pineapple Democracy.

. . . and then I smell something burning from outside the open door of my dorm room.

After that comes the cackling.

My head starts to spin.

I look for cues that will tell me I simply dreaming: I watch the clock for drastic and unexplained changes in time, I try to breath through a pinched nose, I mentally will a quidditch stadium-sized apparition of Professor Nott’s man bun to knock the ceiling off and throw bananas at the Bloody Baron—nothing works.

Burning parchment and a hint of jasmine tea. 

The impression of my nails against my palm.

Sickly sweet perfume that is the olfactory embodiment of a tone-deaf aria.

A snort.

_Becca._

 

I am unable to look away from the fire. From my, dark corner of the common room, I just sit and replay the scene in my head—over and over. 

She was laughing at first, calling me a weird freak, accusing me of some sort of dark magic—the books looked strange and old to her. Then, I think I growled at her. I think I used words even the worst of stereotypical sailors would perceive to be quite crude, actually. If their language was colourful, then I had the entire visible spectrum and then some.

The thing about fires is that it’s difficult—nearly impossible—to retrieve, magically or otherwise, items thrown into it. The thing about little shits is that they should be flushed to prevent them from stinking up your life. The thing about potions is that it’s what I have been dedicating my life to. All my plans—everything for me—leads up to potions. 

Some people have a list of priorities whether consciously thought up or not: family, friends, love, health. . . I have potions. I _had_ my books with my plans to make the ultimate potions reference book, my notes with all the hypotheses I needed to experiment; all the theoretical innovations to old potion methods. 

_What was her point? What was her motive?_

I thought the verbal trash from her was enough; that was safe and predictable for the most part. This is new territory: theft and vandalism.

_Is she devoid of respect? Is she devoid of brain matter?_

She didn’t look as smug as she usually did. She wasn’t expecting my reaction. She couldn’t have known just how valuable those books were to me. She took the ‘Merlin’s wiry nose hairs, stay the eff out’ padlock as, what, a welcome mat?

Lost in my memories, I startle suddenly at the hand on my shoulder. 

“Whoa. Sorry there, didn't mean to frighten you.”

I offer Malfoy a noncommittal ‘hmm.’

“Err. . . Right, I just wanted to say that it was horrible of Becca to do what she did, she's a lunatic, and if you ever need to borrow any textbooks, I'd happily offer you mine.” 

Malfoy’s gesture is too sweet, I couldn't help it: I soften and accept the awkward hug. 

Granted, these weren't the books he thinks they are, but I appreciate it all the same. 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” There was a time we spoke frequently: whenever dinner party season picked up and sociable appearances were to be upheld, we made polite inquiries about our days, weeks, months, years, and at this tender age, there is only so far one can go before hitting ‘life’ and being over with the entire exchange. 

“Just wondering. . . why was there so much smoke?” Malfoy words hold true, he looks more curious than concerned. 

“For a period in the 18th century, wizards tried making parchment a new way that was supposed to make ink dry on it faster—and it did—but it was highly flammable, produced a lot of smoke, and a simple spell does the job better,” I explain. 

“Right.” He's putting the pieces together in his mind about what exactly those books were. Had they been textbooks, the parchment wouldn't have been from the 18th century. 

“Did I ever tell you that Becca’s British accent is fake?” There was a need to escape the subject of my melancholy—it might come out should I dwell on it for too long. 

“I was wondering about that,” he replies thoughtfully. “She does her ‘r’s weirdly.”

We share smirks as a sort of parting. 

I look at my watch; it’s a quarter to detention time. Bloody hell.

 

Professor Nott’s office is tense: I am not in the most smiling of moods—still facing the after effects of Becca’s stupid antics, Weasley looks defeated—strange considering her usual bravado, and Professor Nott just looks disappointed—nothing particularly out of the ordinary these days. 

This day is turning out to be so shit that even the likes of Salazar Slytherin’s super effective plumbing system can’t even flush; it’s like this day took a laxative when it already had a severe case of diarrhoea. 

“Although both lists are, admittedly, impressive, both of you are still missing the point,” Nott sighs. It’s one of those sighs where you are telling yourself that it means nothing to you and it won’t affect you when the truth is that you can do nothing to stop that pang of contrition. “You’ve got this and the next detention classes to think about it. In the meantime, I need you to take inventory for me. If there isn’t enough of a particular ingredient, take note of it.”

Professor Nott retrieves a scroll from the table and hands it to us. Weasley starts to unroll it. To give some perspective, if you’d want to carpet all of Hogwarts’s corridors, you’d still have enough of the scroll to make a couple dozen kites.

The moment the door closes, the sniffling begins.

Weasley is dragging herself towards the storage room, her head down, her red mane shrouding her face. Couple things: 1) this is going to be awkward and 2) bloody hell.

I think I’m finding myself actually feeling sorry for her; it’s a strange feeling and I am rather surprised myself. I didn’t think the task Nott gave us was exceedingly horrible. It’s mainly straightforward. It’s not difficult. Unless, this was about us ‘missing the point’ in our lists—what in Merlin’s cuticles did he want, anyway? Even then, though, Nott was pretty gentle about saying so. 

We start working; the more we work, the more absentmindedly we are able to do so. Read, find, count, check; cyclic work. 

“Look, Weasley, I'm sure it won't that bad.” Crap, I hope my lack of conviction over comforting her didn't translate over to a lack of conviction over the difficulty of the task. 

_Do I put a hand on her shoulder? Do I not put a hand on her shoulder? What is the protocol here? Merlin, why can't there be a manual for these things? Why can't there be a manual for dealing with little shits, too?_

“How can you say that?” She looks at me helplessly. 

Holy cords of Merlin. “Pardon?” 

“How do you even know anyway? Erghh, probably everyone in this bloody school knows already.” 

It's slowly coming to my realisation that this wasn't about the task at hand. “Knows what?”

She suddenly squints her eyes at me and her lips form a thin line. “That depends, what were you talking about?”

“Your distraught over the task given to us by Professor Nott, but I see now that it might not be why you’re. . . in a state.” I finish clumsily. 

“So you didn’t hear about. . .” she starts hesitatingly.

“I’m not sure what I am supposed to have not heard about if I don’t know what it is that I am not supposed to have heard about. Then again, chances are, I haven’t heard about whatever it is given that I, metaphorically, live under a rock.” I just said a lot of words; this feels quite strange.

A corner of her mouth turns up at that. She sighs loudly. “It’s not about detention, I mean we’re more than halfway done with this list.”

I am at a lost at what to say because again, there are no manuals for these things—there really should be. Instead, I just nod, leaving it up to her whether or not to explain.

Rose looks internally conflicted. Finally, she sighs another loud one and says, “Hugo, my asshat of a brother, is determine to ruin my life.”


End file.
